One Tear
by Laura Schiller
Summary: Only love can break the curse, but the love doesn't have to be romantic. What if someone else helps the Beast break the curse?


One Tear

By Laura Schiller

Based on: _Beauty and the Beast_

Copyright: Disney

"I'm sorry to disturb you, master … "

The Beast turned his back on the anxious Cogsworth and stared absently out the tower window. He was calculating how far away Belle must be by now. It must have been several hours since she had taken the Mirror and walked away, still in her yellow ball gown, to rescue her father.

He had set her free.

" _Can anyone be happy if they aren't free?"_ she had asked him.

If she had been so unhappy here, that had to mean she was never coming back.

"Leave me alone," he told the butler.

He couldn't be bothered with running the castle right now. It was taking all his energy just to keep breathing.

"But sir, the castle is under attack!"

"I said - "

He glanced over his shoulder to repeat his order, saw the panic on the little clock's face, and the words, which had been nothing but a distant mechanical noise in the Beast's head, suddenly registered.

" _What?"_

Cogsworth scuttled backward, alarmed by his master's tone, but still managed to give his report. "The villagers, sir. At least fifty men, armed and carrying torches. Their leader has your magic mirror. It must have shown him the way."

The mirror. He had given it to Belle. Those fools must have stolen it – and perhaps hurt her in the process. The very idea made him want to rip something apart.

This was his fault. He focused on Cogsworth, who was staring back with round, terrified eyes.

His people were in danger. Life might be meaningless for him personally now that Belle was gone, but for them it could still be worth living. They had suffered enough for his sake. The least he could do was protect them now.

He scooped the clock up and bounded down the stairs.

/

"Take them by surprise," he said, pacing along the entrance hall while his servants clustered around the front doors. "Let them think you're harmless objects, then once they're well inside, attack."

Military strategy had been forced on him by his tutors as a child. It had bored him then, but was coming in surprisingly useful now.

"Use whatever you can as weapons. Cadenza, block the door. Lumiere, can you turn your flames up higher?"

" _Avec plaisir,_ " said the chandelier, grinning fiercely and sizzling like a Versailles firework show.

"Mrs. Potts, how hot is your water?"

"Hot enough," said the Englishwoman, venting steam.

"Here." The Beast picked her up, careful not to scratch her porcelain surface with his claws, and set her up on a high shelf. "That should give you a better place to aim from."

"I wanna fight too!" came a tiny voice from the tea cart.

"You'll do no such thing, Timothy Potts!" Mrs. Potts glared down at her son.

A loud crash shook the door. The villagers were using a battering ram. Cadenza groaned from the effort of standing on only two wooden legs to hold the doors closed. A large cupboard lumbered over to help him.

 _Crash._

"I agree," said the Beast.

"Please, sir," the housekeeper's painted eyes flickered with worry, "If you could - "

"I'll see he comes to no harm," said the Beast. "I promise."

He picked up Chip, saucer and all, and carried him up the stairs.

 _Crash._

Behind them, the door broke down and the mob burst in, roaring and waving their torches.

"Go back!" Chip shuddered in the Beast's paws. "Go back! I have to help Mama – what if she breaks?"

"I put her in a high place. She'll be safe."

"But the others? They're made of wood or metal. Those people have _fire!"_

"All the more reason you should stay behind."

They reached the West Wing. With his night predator's ears, the Beast could still hear war cries and screams of pain echoing up from the entrance hall. He set the little teacup and saucer down on one of the few pieces of non-magical furniture he hadn't destroyed: the table where he kept the enchanted rose.

"Stay there," he ordered. "I'll go back and drive them off."

He turned away – but a small sound, inaudible to humans, made him pause.

A tear was running down Chip's painted face.

"You're crying."

"No, I'm not," said the child, and sniffed.

The Beast still didn't understand the intricacies of the curse, even after all these years, that would allow painted eyes to shed real tears. And he'd never been used to children. All he knew was what Belle would have done in his place.

Ever so carefully, using the back of his furry paw, he wiped Chip's tear away.

He didn't know what he would have done next – said something, perhaps, but more likely just plunged into the battle downstairs – but a blinding golden light, a flurry of rose petals, and a tingling all over his body interrupted him.

Chip's astonished " _Whoa!_ " was the last thing he heard before losing consciousness.

/

Gaston had seen the shadow of his prey disappearing up the main staircase. It took him a while to beat off a flock of feather dusters and extricate himself from the tangle of ribbons thrown around him by the demonic wardrobe, but he slashed his way out with his bayonet.

Ignoring Le Fou, who was pinned down by a harpsichord, Gaston stalked the Beast.

Second storey. Which corridor had he gone down? Gaston squinted at the floor, cursing the teapot that had poured water over his torch, looking for paw prints in the dust. Except that there was very little dust, considering what a ruin this place was. It was as if someone had thoroughly cleaned the place earlier in the day.

"Show me where to go to find the Beast," he said to the mirror.

It showed him the left side of the corridor. All right.

Then a massive golden hurricane of light exploded at him from that very direction, knocking him off his feet and making him land heavily on his backside as it spread across the castle.

"Sorcery," he snarled through gritted teeth. He'd had it with this incomprehensible place. As soon as he had the Beast's head as a trophy, he was going to burn it to the ground.

He got up and stormed along the left-hand corridor, the mirror in one hand, his gun in the other. He didn't even notice that the magic had left everything brighter and cleaner in its wake.

He opened the first door he found. There he saw a massive, shadowy figure huddled by the window, silhouetted against the pre-dawn sky. He smirked.

"Hello, Beast," he said, tucking the mirror into his belt so he could cock his gun. "I'm Gaston."

"Hey! That's no way to talk to the master!" said a high-pitched, childish voice.

A smaller figure detached itself from the larger one – it had been a man and a six-year-old boy, sitting together on the window seat. The boy stood in front of Gaston, hands on hips, glowering.

The man stood up, with a sweep of his long dark cloak, and came to stand in front of the boy, with one arm flung out protectively.

At that moment, the first rays of the rising sun came through the window and fell on the man's face.

It was Prince Adam de Villeneuve.

Gaston's memories, erased by the curse, came rushing back in one sickening moment. This man was his overlord. He owned the village, its people, and every living thing within its borders. He had the power to order Gaston's death, and quite legally, too. Gaston had seen it happen many times in the palace courtyard: whippings, chopping off a hand for theft, hangings, beheadings. Often for crimes committed in pure desperation, because the taxes had been so high that some people could not afford to feed their families.

Gaston had grown up in terror of the Villeneuve dynasty: first the father, then the son. Terror, hatred, and envy.

Moreover, this Prince was tall, broad-shouldered and heavily muscled. He looked as though he'd be equal to Gaston in a fight, and at such close range, the gun would only be a liability.

If any of his followers had been there, Gaston might have stood his ground. But since he was alone, he fell to his knees and caught the hem of Prince Adam's cloak. The gun clattered to the floor.

"Your Highness, please forgive me! I didn't mean … "

" … to attack my castle? To threaten my servants? To lead the villagers into battle against their own friends and family?" A shout wouldn't have bothered Gaston, but the Prince's deep voice was ominously low.

"How was I supposed to know?" Gaston's voice rose to a frightened whine. "This was all a misunderstanding!"

"And trying to force Belle to marry you – was that a misunderstanding too?"

How could he know that? More sorcery? Or was he simply referring to Gaston's first proposal, when Belle had slammed the door in his face? Had she told her new lover that story? For it was obvious that lovers was what they were. Why else would Belle have returned from the castle in a ball gown that was worth a year's wages?

Gaston was outmaneuvered. By a prince disguised as a beast.

He let out a frantic, false laugh. "Oh well, Your Highness, you must know what it's like! Women are impossible to understand. I thought she was only playing hard to get."

The little boy let out a shrill sound of outrage. "Our Belle? And _you_? Are you crazy?"

Prince Adam's face twisted into a look of such fury that Gaston could almost see the shadow of fangs and horns. The prince grabbed the front of Gaston's red army coat, hauled him to his feet, and pinned him against the wall.

Gaston struggled to remember the prayers Pere Robert had futilely tried to teach him, for this surely was the end.

Except that the Prince's eyes, narrowed into deadly slits, were opening again. His scowl was fading. He looked … thoughtful.

"You're right," he finally said, letting go so suddenly that Gaston staggered in his boots. "I do know. I was a lot like you once … to my shame. But since someone gave me a second chance, I suppose I should do the same for you."

"Thank you, thank you!" He bowed elaborately, hands sweeping through the air. "You are merciful, Your Highness. What can I do to repay you?"

"Get out," said the Prince, quietly as ever. "Never show your face within my borders again. And by the way," he pointed at the mirror stuck in Gaston's belt, "I'll have that back."

With another bow, Gaston handed over the mirror. Then he snatched up his gun and ran out of the room as fast as his legs could carry him.

The child's derisive giggle floated in his wake.

/

Belle dug her heels into Philippe's sides to make him go faster. Her mind raced, faster than the horse, but she could think of no solution. Even if she managed to overtake Gaston's mob, how would she get past them without being spotted and captured again? Could she take another route? But if she strayed from the path, she might run into the wolves – and this time, the Beast would not be there to save her …

The Beast. It felt wrong to call him that now, but she didn't even know his name. If they killed him, it would be all her fault, for her foolish action with the mirror. But what else could she have done?

The flicker of torchlight through the trees, the sound of galloping hooves and running feet, and the clamor of frightened people made her pull the horse up short and look for a place to hide. She had found them.

But they were moving in an unexpected direction – away from the castle. Toward her.

The men rushed past her in a headlong flight, not seeming to care at all that she had escaped the asylum keeper's wagon. She steered Philippe to the side of the road just in time to keep them from colliding.

She saw people she knew – the schoolmaster who had sneered at her learning, the shrewish woman who had spilled her laundry on the ground – but she hardly recognized their battered clothes and terrified faces in the torchlight. They looked like they had been in a battle. She even spotted Thomas, Richard and Stanley dressed like court ladies, in the unmistakable style of Madame Garderobe. Belle swallowed an inappropriate laugh; that explained a lot. The enchanted servants must have given the villagers quite a beating.

If they had driven everyone off, did that mean the servants had all survived? And the Beast – was he safe?

She couldn't see Gaston.

She did spot LeFou, imping along at the tail end of the crowd, and called out to him as loudly as she dared.

"LeFou, what happened?"

"Belle?" he yelped. "How did you get out?"

"No time to explain! Please, tell me what happened!"

"Gaston left me for dead, is what happened." LeFou's voice was hoarse; he rubbed his neck as if he had bruises there. "When those damn things attacked us, he left me trapped underneath a bloody _harpsichord_ , of all things! And after all I've done for him … "

"The Beast and his servants, are they all right?"

"I should think so." He snorted. "They could've killed us. You should probably still look for them, though, just to be sure."

She was about to continue along the road, when something about the fat little man's behavior gave her pause.

"Since when have you been so helpful to me, LeFou?"

"Hey, I can be helpful!" he exclaimed, in a high-pitched, indignant voice. "I may have terrible taste in friends, but that can be fixed. By the way, if you see that talking teapot, tell her I said hello. She was really sweet."

He trudged off into the darkness after his friends, leaving Belle more confused than ever, and twice as determined to find out what the blazes was going on at that castle.

/

By the time she had reached the castle, stabled Philippe, rubbed him down after that tiring run and made her way on foot into the courtyard, dawn was breaking.

For a moment, she was terrified that she had gotten lost and reached the wrong castle, because the building was nearly unrecognizable. The crumbling stones were all strong and whole, the black gargoyles had been replaced by beautiful golden statues, and the permanent blanket of snow had melted at last, giving way to a warm, sunny, completely natural June morning.

More than that, there were _people_ everywhere.

Some of Gaston's "army" had obviously stayed and put down their weapons. Groups of families and friends, separated for years by the curse and its amnesiac effect, had found each other and were laughing, talking and embracing as if to make up for lost time.

Belle's heart melted when she saw Monsieur Jean, the absent-minded potter, sitting close to a woman who wore a housekeeper's cap and apron. A little boy ran around them, playing with a fluffy lapdog. No wonder poor Jean had been so absent-minded, if the curse had made him forget his entire family. But now he had them back. That had to mean …

Mrs. Potts and Chip. They were human.

The curse was broken.

Looking around, she recognized more of her friends. The woman in the feathery white skirt must be Plumette, and the man in the golden coat with his arm wrapped around her had to be Lumiere. The elderly man with the mustache and pocket watch who glared at them both was Cogsworth.

But where was the Beast … ?

"Belle."

A quiet, hauntingly familiar voice behind her made her jump.

One person, a tall young man about her age, had withdrawn from the celebrations and retreated into one of the few dark corners this magically refurbished castle had left. He wore a shirt and trousers that were too big for him, his hair was unbound and his feet were bare.

He stared at her in awe.

"You came back," he whispered.

"Of course I did," said Belle. "I tried to stop the attack. I'm just so glad nobody was hurt. Or were they?"

"No. Everyone is safe." He blushed and ducked his head.

She couldn't quite place him. There had been so many enchanted objects in the castle. He had nothing distinctive about him, like Cogsworth's watch or Plumette's feathers, to help her recognize what he had been. But he obviously knew her, or he wouldn't look so happy to see her.

Would the Beast be happy to see her? Or would he blame her? She had, after all, let the magic mirror fall into the wrong hands. She couldn't bear for him to think ill of her. She looked around furtively, searching for a glimpse of the blue coat he had worn, or one of his lacy cravats. She was a little curious about how he would look as a human man, but it didn't matter that much. She had to tell him …

"What about Gaston?" she asked, forcing herself to concentrate. There were more important matters to take care of first, before worrying about her feelings.

"He ran," said the stranger, with a grim contempt she could understand very well.

"Well, that's one problem taken care of," said Belle, trying to sound brisk and casual, smoothing down the folds of her yellow dress. It had looked magnificent in the ball room, but was rather ridiculous now.

"Now, uh … do you know where your master is? I need to speak with him."

"My – my master?" The servant's mouth twitched with an uneasy smile. "What do you have to tell him?"

Belle steeled herself. If this ended as she hoped it would end, the entire castle staff, and the village too, would know soon enough anyway. Those moments trapped in the wagon and galloping through the forest, fearing for the Beast's life, had made her brain finally realize what her heart already knew.

"Tell him I love him," she said. "And please … tell him I'm sorry it took so long for me to understand."

The young man's smile widened until it lit up his entire face. He stepped forward, reached for her slowly, and tilted her chin up so that she was looking into his eyes.

They were blue as the sky above them, a shade she knew very well. She had seen those eyes in a painting in the West Wing, with claw marks through them. She had seen those eyes bright with joy during a dance, and dark with pain during a farewell.

These were the eyes of her beloved.

"He loves you too," said the Beast.

"It's _you,_ " she whispered, reaching up to run her fingers through his hair. It had the same golden-brown color as the Beast's fur. Of course.

"You broke your curse!" she exclaimed giddily. "That's amazing! But _how?_ "

"It's a long story," he said. "But it's your doing. If you hadn't taught me the meaning of compassion, my people and I might have been cursed forever. So thank you, my love. Thank you."

Even his voice sounded familiar, though it was lighter now, coming from a smaller human body. But he was still tall, and he looked strong enough to literally sweep her off her feet and swing her around – which he promptly did.

Their laughter rang across the courtyard stones, calling the attention of everyone in the courtyard. Soon enough, Belle nearly disappeared under a flood of gratitude, handshakes and hugs. She admired Madame Garderobe's gown, let Lumiere kiss her hand, petted Froufrou and laughed at Chip's pride in being able to run again. Plans were made for restoring the ties between the village and the castle, for a celebratory banquet, for inviting Belle's father to join then, for a trip to Paris and a dozen other things.

But the man she loved did not leave her side. All she had to do was look up into his blue eyes, and she was home.


End file.
